Maya: Six Points of View
by Celli
Summary: Set after "The Enemy Walks In." : Six CIA employees confront Irina Derevko.


Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome.   
celli@fanfic101.com   
Category: Vignettes; angst; AU.   
Rating: PG for discussion of violence.   
Spoilers: Season 2, through "The Enemy Walks In";   
speculation but no spoilers beyond that point.   
Summary: Six CIA employees confront Irina Derevko.   
Archiving: Cover Me and my site (www.fanfic101.com);   
otherwise just tell me so I can come visit.   
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other   
people with lawyers. Fortunately, this means I don't have to   
talk to Irina. eek!  
Story note: Great, a story that diverges from canon before   
it's even posted. :) This was written before "Trust Me," but   
due to computer issues was not posted for several weeks. So   
consider this AU after Season 2, Episode 1.  
  
Thanks to the Horsechicks for reading, and Chris, JenC and   
Gail for betaing.  
  
***  
  
Maya: Six Points of View  
by Celli Lane  
  
1. Sydney - "Won"  
  
{Won (Korean) - unwillingness to let go of illusion.}  
  
You're in a well-furnished living room, but you and I know   
it's really a cell.  
  
You belong in this cell. You're an assassin. A spy. A   
criminal mastermind. You're the kind of woman who fakes   
her own death, abandons her daughter, and marries a man for   
the express purpose of betraying him.  
  
Is there any part of you that belongs in a plush, soft   
room? That deserves to be beautifully lit and tastefully   
dressed?  
  
Is any part of you still my mom?  
  
When I was little, you would read to me before bed. A   
chapter a night, every night. As soon as I outgrew Dr.   
Seuss, you had me on the classics. Dickens, Twain, the   
Alice books, a magical six months in Narnia. The Scarlet   
Pimpernel was my favorite; I always thought it might be   
yours too.  
  
In the summer--and it was nearly always summer, it seems--  
we would drive to the beach and build sand castles. Our   
Coke bottles would support the towers. You taught me that   
castles needed wide, deep moats.  
  
Every week, after my ballet class, you took me to the   
grocery store and we played hide-and-seek in the produce   
aisle.  
  
I have happy memories, and I'm thankful for them. But, you   
know, I can't remember one time that you scolded me or sent   
me to my room. The first time you punished me was the day   
you shot me in the shoulder.  
  
Did you love me so much you couldn't bear to be firm with   
me? Or was it too much trouble to be a good mother?  
  
Which mother were you? Which woman is waiting in that cell   
for me?  
  
I can't walk in there until I know for sure.  
  
***  
  
2. Jack - "Razbliuto"  
  
{Razbliuto (Russian) - the feeling a person has for someone   
he or she once loved but now does not.}  
  
I don't believe it.  
  
I don't believe a word of it.  
  
Oh, I believe that you want SD-6 destroyed; your little   
game with Mr. Tippen is proof enough of that.  
  
I believe you want to see Sloane humbled in the dirt nearly   
as much as I do. I may not know why yet--though I will--but   
I believe it.  
  
But is that the reason you killed your own second-in-  
command and turned yourself in to the CIA?  
  
Not a chance in hell.  
  
What is it? You weren't satisfied with a daughter so   
devoted to your memory that both her cover and her real   
career involved following in your footsteps?  
  
She wasn't in enough danger from that psychotic weasel   
Cole? Or when you fed Tippen leads about me, knowing that   
if I'm exposed she is too?  
  
No. I know. You had such a good time breaking her heart   
when she found out you were still alive. It was so   
satisfying to put a bullet into your own child's body. And   
you thought--because who wouldn't--you thought, I know what   
could be even more entertaining. I'll sit in a cell where   
she can see me every day, maybe drop a few hints about   
those pesky spies at SD-6, and of course the best fun will   
be telling her it's all for her.  
  
Right?  
  
I loved you once. I took a life's worth of passion and   
divided it between my job and my wife. I lusted after you.   
I worshipped you. I made a baby with you.  
  
And now you're using my baby to further some twisted   
agenda.  
  
If you hurt her, I will kill you. I can't make it any   
clearer than that.  
  
***  
  
3. Vaughn - "Korinthenkacker"  
  
{Korinthenkacker (German) - a person overly concerned with   
trivial details.}  
  
Miss Derevko. Or do you prefer Mrs. Bristow? I didn't   
think so. My name is Michael. I've been assigned to your CIA   
interrogation team.  
  
Let's talk about the missions you were assigned by the KGB.  
  
Yes. The assassinations.  
  
Do you remember the names of the men and women you killed?   
Identifying details? I have a list here, if you need--no, I   
didn't think so.  
  
I'd like to draw your attention to the twelfth name on this   
list. Vaughn, William C.  
  
He was...let me see...six feet even. Two hundred and   
fifteen pounds. Brown hair. Green eyes. You remember   
him?  
  
What was Mr. Vaughn wearing the day you shot him? Come,   
Miss Derevko, you just claimed to have perfect recall. A   
suit? What color? Brown? Gray? Light gray? I'm sure   
the blood stood out against that.  
  
I understand you shot him in a parking garage. That is, he   
was in the garage. You were quite a distance away. I hear   
amazing things about your marksmanship, ma'am. What kind   
of rifle were you using? Really? Good choice. A bit   
conservative, perhaps...  
  
What kind of car did Mr. Vaughn drive? I assume you killed   
him near his car. That's a family car, Miss Derevko. Yes,   
I'm quite sure you never owned one.  
  
So, tell me. Did you follow Mr. Vaughn to that garage?   
Were you familiar with his schedule and habits? Yes,   
patterns are vital in my occupation as well. Did you ever   
shadow your target at his residence? Observe him at home   
with his family?  
  
How many children do you recall in the Vaughn household?   
Just the one? Hmm.  
  
Did you stay at the scene after shooting Mr. Vaughn? Or   
did you leave immediately? Wise choice.  
  
He was shot...let me see...oh, through the chest,   
puncturing a lung. Very good shooting indeed, ma'am.   
Often patients with these wounds survive for several   
minutes before drowning in their own blood.  
  
Do you think Mr. Vaughn was alive when the paramedics   
arrived? Do you think he asked for his wife and son before   
he died?  
  
No. I don't think he did either.  
  
***  
  
4. Devlin - "Plunderbund"  
  
{Plunderbund (Dutch) - group or alliance of financial or   
political interests that exploits the public.}  
  
Miss Derevko. My name is Devlin; I head the Los Angeles   
regional office of the CIA. I am, therefore, the de facto   
head of the operation that will someday destroy SD-6.  
  
You'll forgive me for staring. I've heard so much about   
you. It's quite amazing to meet you after all this time.  
  
At any rate...shall we begin?  
  
Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the   
Alliance or any Alliance-sponsored organization?  
  
Now, Miss Derevko, there's no need to use that kind of   
language with me. And I'm certainly not replacing the   
lamp. I didn't break it, after all.  
  
It's a reasonable question. The last time my government   
knew your whereabouts, you were an enemy of the United   
States. Some two decades later, we find you again, and   
you're even more of an enemy. I find it highly probable   
that you've colluded and collaborated with other terrorist   
organizations over the years. You had to go somewhere   
after the Iron Curtain fell, did you not?  
  
What was that about Pakistan? Excuse me, I'm just making a   
note to myself.  
  
When did you become aware of the existence of the Alliance?   
And you immediately considered them a threat? How forward-  
thinking of you.  
  
Where did you learn of the Alliance? From your employers   
at the KGB? Or from the members of what became K-  
Directorate?  
  
Well, you did have several of their leaders murdered. It   
seems reasonable that you knew them--or perhaps more to the   
point, that they knew of you.  
  
I need your sources, madam. If I can't verify your   
intelligence, then it is worthless to me. And if you can't   
give me anything of value, well, what reason do I have to   
hold back the hordes of State's attorneys who are clamoring   
to try you publicly for twelve counts of lying in wait to   
murder? You're a career-maker, Miss Derevko.  
  
I want details, madam. I want the inner working of the   
Alliance. I want corroborating sources. And I want them   
immediately. Your daughter would make a wonderful   
character witness at your trial, wouldn't she?  
  
***  
  
5. Weiss - "Mokita"  
  
{Mokita (Kiriwina, New Guinea) - truth everybody knows but   
nobody speaks.}  
  
I have to say, you're very good-looking for an evil bitch.  
  
No, I'm sorry, I can't talk any louder. I have a bit of a   
sore throat. It's a side effect from that bullet in the   
neck. Remember?  
  
Yeah, that was me. I know--I'm taller when I'm not in   
shock.  
  
So. Let's go over the list, okay? You   
killed...roughly...everyone who's ever gotten in your way.   
Except for the husband you hung out to dry. But hey, what   
do I know about marriage? My mom got a sailboat from my   
dad in the divorce, and she doesn't even swim. He'd   
probably have preferred a jail term.  
  
Right. Murder. We covered that. Oh, and there's the   
spying. Obviously. Faking your own death. Hey, did you   
really suck the air out of the tire? Sydney had this whole   
elaborate theory, but I thought...you did. Huh. That is   
one warped set of DNA you passed on to your kid, let me   
tell you.  
  
Sorry. Sorry. Moving on. I get distracted, I can't help   
it. You're all just so...insane.  
  
Then you left the country and we didn't hear from you for a   
while. In the meantime, you start your own intelligence   
organization. Sort of an SD-6 Ladies Auxiliary.  
  
You know, it's a good thing I don't speak Russian. Say   
whatever you like, lady. I don't mind. We haven't even   
gotten to the part where, as head of this supercool   
mercenary group, you nicknamed yourself "The Man." The   
Freudian implications--and the lack of imagination--are just   
staggering.  
  
So. Formed your little company, blah blah. Put a spy in   
the CIA, blah blah. Brought down your second-biggest   
rivals. Blah blah blah. Built the big red water balloon,   
tried to kidnap Sydney, shot Sydney, lost Sydney. Busy day   
for you.  
  
Then my guess is that you went too long without shooting   
somebody and you got twitchy. Otherwise you'd've just   
turned yourself in without all that unnecessary shooting   
people in the neck and whatnot.  
  
I'm not afraid to admit that you are one immensely scary   
lady. I can't decide whether I should propose to your   
daughter or get a restraining order against her. Sheesh.  
  
***  
  
6. Barnett - "Maya"  
  
{Maya (Sanskrit) - the mistaken belief that a symbol is the   
same as the reality it represents.}  
  
Irina. You'll be glad to know I've run the last of the   
tests. I finished your writeup yesterday.  
  
My conclusions? What do you suppose I've concluded, Irina?  
  
"Psychopath" is such an easy label to slap on someone these   
days. In your case, some of my colleagues have suggested   
"sociopath" instead.  
  
That makes you smile? I wonder, Irina, are you proud that   
you don't have a conscience, or proud that you've misled us   
so well?  
  
You're not smiling any more.  
  
Do you ever know what your final goal is, Irina? Do you   
know who you're betraying and who you're helping? Or are   
you so many moves into this chess game that not even you   
can see past your strategy?  
  
I think we're done here. We could talk for hours and all   
we'd do is recycle the lies. When this all falls apart, if   
you want to talk about it, tell the agents at the door.   
They'll find me.  
  
Goodbye, Irina.  
  
--the end--  
  
All the foreign words and their definitions come from a great,   
thought-provoking book called "They Have a Word For It : A   
Lighthearted Lexicon of Untranslatable Words and Phrases" by   
Howard Rheingold. 


End file.
